


To Love You More

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s05e17 Her Handsome Hero, F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, Smut, Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Gaston's death, a stricken, guilt-ridden Belle ask Rumple if the dagger means more to him than she does. Set after the events of 5x17 Her Handsome Hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Love You More

**Author's Note:**

> I needed these two two talk (more!) and make love, and I wanted to dispel this foolish notion that Rumple loves the dagger more than Belle. Also, this is a little anti-Emma Swan.

“Choose,” Hades said.

Belle wrapped her frozen arms around herself, cradling her belly as bile climbed up her throat in sour waves.

A cracked, brittle spinning wheel littered with moldy straw stood on a platform in the center of the room. Rumple, hands quick as lightening, twirled the wheel like a demon possessed. Forced to flex under his blood-caked fingers, the wood creaked and cried in protest. After hours of Hades’ torture, her Rumple’s dear face was swollen and battered—almost unrecognizable even to her knowing eyes.

At Rumple’s elbow, a bouquet of blackened red roses was stuffed in a cracked vase—a mockery of their love. As he worked the wheel, charred bits of petal crumbled and drifted on the ground in tiny graves. The putrid stench of death clung to the cold, wet air. Down here, in the lowest level of the Underworld, there was no light, no life, no love—only desperation and decay.

Groans of eternal suffering swirled throughout the vast, musty cavern of Hades’ lair and Belle trembled at their suffering.

“Don’t you just love that sound?” the god asked. He chuckled, low and sarcastic, his eyes a vapid wasteland beneath cartoonish blue hair that burned like a bloated gaslight.

Quaking with misery and terror, Belle stood on Hades’ right side. On his left, the Dark One’s dagger was displayed on a pedestal. Like a bizarre scale of justice, the lord of the Underworld had positioned Rumple’s two great loves—Belle and the dagger. Now he was forcing Rumple to make a choice.

There was a time that Belle would have been confident that the scale would tip in her favor. Now she wasn’t so sure. This morning in Underbrooke’s farce of a library, among the meagre stacks of bloated, worm-infested books, Rumple had professed to love the dagger with as much devotion as he’d ever sworn to her.

“Choose, Rumplestiltskin. Choose your True Love,” Hades ordered with a flick of his wrist.

Rumple jerked back from the wheel with a hiss, rubbing at his forearm where Hades had burned his suit coat away to reveal puckered, branded flesh.

“Please.” Belle gagged through her sobs as the odor of burning flesh wafted toward her. “Stop this, you monster. Leave him alone! Rumple, look at me.”

Hades’ fingers clenched her shaking shoulders like iron manacles, biting deep into the tender flesh. “Yes, Rumplestiltskin, look at your wife. Dagger or Mrs. Dark One? What’s it going to be?”

Rumple hunched over the wheel once more, spinning faster and faster. His engorged, sightless eyes were fixated on the whirling spokes. “I don’t have to choose,” he cried in a manic, singsong warble. “You choose you lose, you choose you lose…in bed by ten, in bed by ten….”

Belle’s eyes widened in horror as Gaston’s face floated up from the deep, his eyes blood red with fury.

“Behind you!” she shrieked. Long, stringy tentacles of fury wrapped around Rumple’s neck, pulling him off the platform away from the spinning wheel. Down, down, down he fell  into waters dank with hopelessness.

Rumple’s screamed mingled with the sickening crunch of shattered bones, followed by a bloodcurdling splash.

“Belle! Belle!” Rumple called out to her from the deep, where other desperate souls pawed at him, dragging him deeper into the water. With leaden legs, Belle scrabbled to the bank of the river to save him, but Hades clawed at her body, dragging her away. “Belle! Belle!” Her name was a gurgle, then Rumple sank beneath the rippling waves.

Belle was too late. Always too late to save the ones she loved. Covering her ears to block out the cries of the undead, she sank onto the cold, slime-coated stones and sobbed.

“Belle! Belle!”

Her eyes flew open on a scream. Rumple’s haunted eyes hovered above her as she lay on the cot in the Underbrooke pawnshop. Gentle hands on her shoulders grounded her, her name on his lips reminding her where she was.

 “Rumple.” His face was pinched and white with worry, but he was here. Crying with relief, she launched herself at him, clutching at his shirt and ramming her head against his chest. “You’re alive. You’re alive.”

“Shhhh. Of course I’m alive.” He crooned into her ear, his breath cooling the sticky sweat on her temples. He brushed her damp, tangled hair away from her face with his fingers and smoothed the crumpled sheets. “It was a nightmare, sweetheart. Everything’s all right. I’m here now.”

But it wasn’t all right. She was a murderer, and nothing would ever be all right again.

“I killed him.” She moaned, unable to unsee the image of Gaston’s shocked face plummeting into waters of eternal unrest. A scalding, guilt-flavored tear dripped into her mouth.

“No, you didn’t. I killed him, Belle. He was already dead.” Rumple guided her head back to his shoulder and she wrapped her arms around him like a vice, wanting nothing more than to disappear inside his skin. Her husband, her anchor. Even after what she’d done and how self-righteous she’d been today, he was determined to shoulder the blame. Gods, how she loved him.

“I cut off his legs.” She sniffled against his throat. “Back at the Dark Castle. I’m an accomplice to murder. Out on the docks, I finished the job. I wanted to help him move on to a better place, but I did the opposite. The worst part is, I’d do it all again. What does that say about me?”

“It says you’re human,” Rumple said on a sigh. “Oh, Belle. I never wanted this for you. That’s why I wanted to take care of him myself. You’ve taken on so much today—hearing of your pregnancy, seeing Gaston, learning I’m the Dark One again. I should have told you about the dagger sooner—as soon as you came back.”

“Why didn’t you?” Like a newborn babe, she mouthed his collarbone through the soft fabric of his shirt, soothing herself with his familiar, spicy scent.

“I was afraid.” He hung his head. “Afraid you wouldn’t understand. When you came home that morning after I sent you away, I was selfish. I just wanted a little while to keep you safe, and close, and all to myself. The power…I wanted it back for many reasons. What I said is true, it’s part of who I am now. But I also did it to keep Emma from suicide. But no one would believe that, of course. Not after Hook sacrificed himself.”

“Since when is cleaning up your own mess a sacrifice?” Belle snorted through her tears. “Hasn’t everyone been dragged to hell to save his sorry arse?” She waved a hand toward the filthy window, glaring at the sickly yellow skies of their Underworld prison.

“That’s one way of looking at it.” He smothered a laugh and pulled out his pocket square, mopping her face with the cool silk.

Belle climbed into his lap and drew his hands down to her still-flat belly. “I’m afraid, too,” she said.

“I promise you, we will find a way to save our child. Hades’ days are numbered.” Teeth clenched, Rumple splayed his fingers over her abdomen, caressing their baby.

“You said you’d fix it, and you will. I trust you,” she promised. “You’ve been so honest these past few weeks…it means everything to me. No matter what happens, I want us always to talk like this.”

"We'll save our baby together," he said. His eyes turned tender and questioning, and he brushed her fingertips with his lips. “You never lose faith in me, do you? After everything I’ve done, all the ways I’ve hurt you.”

“I’ve committed my share of wrongs. Including today.” Her eyes brimmed with a fresh flood of unshed tears. “You were right about me in the animal shelter. I was—am—bossy and uncompromising. I made up the rules as I went along, trying to tell you where the line was, and I ended up vaulting over it. Right and wrong, black and white, hero and villain—” she sighed. “It all used to seem so clear.”

“And now?”

“Now, I just don’t know anymore.”

“Oh, Belle.” He rocked her slowly, and she curled against his torso. “You’re determined to see the good in everyone, sweetheart. Including me. That’s why I love you so much.”

“Don’t be kind to me,” she whispered miserably. “I don’t deserve it.”

“None of that,” he chided, stroking her the side of her neck. “I think we both have a weakness we need to admit to: I have my power and you have your principles. Neither power nor principles are bad, but when we abuse them, or insist on seeing everything as black or white? Disaster. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

“I never thought of principles as something that could be wrong.” She stared at the moth-eaten curtain on the side door. “And I’m supposed to be the clever one.”

 _Choices._ Belle swallowed convulsively. She was back in Hades’ lair, reliving the agony of her dream. The scales tipped once more, and she was found wanting. Maybe now was the wrong time to ask about the dagger. Maybe there was no right time. No. He had brought it up, and she needed an answer.

She slipped out of his embrace to sit beside him on the narrow bed. “Rumple, will you tell me something? I promise that whatever you say, I won’t get angry or walk out. Even it’s an answer I don’t want to hear.” She rubbed his whiskered cheek with her knuckles.

“Anything you want to know,” he said. “No more secrets.”

Belle hesitated, her throat thick with fear. But worry had taken too many black bites out of her soul. She drew a gulp of air, then plunged ahead: “Do you love your power more than you love me?”

Silence stretched between them and Belle twisted Rumple’s handkerchief in her sweaty fingers. The clock on the wall behind the workbench ticked, her stomach pitching and rolling in time to the loud, agonizing beats. She waited for him to speak until she could bear it no longer. She chanced a peek at him. “Rumple?”

His face was a stone wall, but his eyes were naked pools of pain. “My gods, is that what I made you think?”

She winced, stammering excuses. “It’s ok if it’s true. I-I don’t care about the magic. Only about you hurting people for no reason. Not because of everyone else—I care about _you_. I just want to know where I stand…” Gods, she sounded pathetic.

Rumple shot to his feet and raked an agitated hand through his windblown hair. He stalked up and down the rotting floorboards, and she stretched out beseeching hands. Was he going to leave?

“Belle, no! Power could never be more important to me than you. It’s a means to an end. The only way I know to protect the ones I love, and yes, myself, too. I’ve told you before—I’m not brave, sweetheart. Not like you.” His smile grim, he slipped the dagger from his suit coat, turning it over in his hands. “I’m not a hero. I’ve never pretended to be.”

“That’s not true. You’re _my_ hero. And you have your own brand of bravery.” Belle stood and splayed her hands over his chest, relishing the insistent thump of his heart. “But I can’t lose you to darkness, Rumple. Not again.”

The dagger clattered to the floor, and Rumple pressed his mouth to hers in a fierce, insistent kiss. “Never,” he swore against her mouth. “This time, I own the dagger. It doesn’t own me. I choose you. You own me, body and soul.”

“Oh, Rumple. I love you so much.” She gasped as he began grazing his teeth along her neck, soothing each sharp little scrape with his tongue. “But I can’t think when you’re touching me this way.”

He chuckled, blazing a path from her jaw to her temple with his fevered mouth. His voice buzzed in her ear. “Now you know how it feels.”

Panting, she pushed herself an arm’s length away, searching his face for irony. Once again she had taken matters into her own hands and failed. And she’d used Rumple in the process. “The dagger—I had no right. I should have trusted you to make your own choice about Gaston instead of taking it away from you. I’m sorry, Rumple. It will never happen again. But I meant what I said—I have always known who you really are. And I love you.”

“You’re forgiven. And I’m not angry with you, sweetheart.” He pulled her back into his embrace, stroking her hair as he held her close. “I know you would do anything to protect me from darkness, just as I was trying to protect you. You saved my life, Belle. In more ways than one.” He peppered kisses over her face, his palms massaging circles across her back. Slowing the pace, he trapped her earlobe between his teeth, nibbling and sucking until she quivered and arched her neck. His breath was harsh in the still, quiet shop and he whispered, “No more words now, darling. Not just now.”

She groaned in response, a noise of passion and relief, and he dipped his tongue between her lips. Belle welcomed the tender assault, moaning into the kiss. Clinging to his chest, she eased open the buttons of his shirt, keeping her mouth fused to some part of him as she revealed bit after bit of lean, tanned skin. Never would she let him go again.

As he swirled his tongue into the hollow of her throat, those delicious, clever fingers slipped below the waistband of her skirt and tights, soon setting a rhythm that made her shunt her hips in desperation.

Belle was ablaze, her core pulsing in time with her savage heartbeat. Their remaining clothes melted away, pooling on the floor in puddles of cotton and silk. She gasped as he sipped on a nipple, cradling the other aching breast in his calloused palm.

Belle bowed her back, reaching for more of him as he stroked her inner thighs. At last, he thrust home with an urgent cry. The union was furious as they pounded against each other, filling all their cracked, empty places with love. Disease and decay surrounded them as the war on hope raged on, but in Rumple’s arms, Belle found healing, completion, and deep, sustaining peace.

With total certainty she knew their quest to free their baby and go home would be successful. Everything was going to be fine.

She lost track of time as they rested together, his head pillowed against her chest as she stroked his brow and twined her fingers through his hair. Belle drifted in and out of sleep until the sound of the bell about the shop door rang. The mattress creaked as Rumple rose from the bed.

“That better not be my father,” he groused, shrugging on his shirt and buttoning his trousers. “I’ll be right back.”

Voices drifted through the curtain and she heard Rumple say, “My wife is exhausted. She’s resting at the moment. Thank you for your concern, Miss Swan.”

Emma. Belle groped for her clothes, rushing to the main floor of the shop.

“I’m serious, Gold,” Emma said, sounding irritable. “We’re not going to let anything happen to Belle or the baby. If she needs…”

“If there’s anything _we_ need _we_ will take care of it,” Belle interrupted, hands on hips.

Rumple wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Belle—”

“Rumple, it’s ok. I’ve got this.” She faced Emma, rounding the cash register. “Are you here for more blackmail? Because we’re all done in.”

“What? No. Belle…I came to check on you,” Emma said with a squeak, backing up.

“Did you? Or are you here to drive a wedge between Rumple and me?” She crossed her arms, advancing toward the front door. “Let me be crystal clear: you won’t succeed. The only person I need protecting me is right here.”

“Protecting you? He’s the Dark One. Again.”

“Then you should know just how he feels,” Belle snapped. “If you cared about me, about _us,_ you would have just asked for what you wanted, instead of resorting to trickery to get your way. You don't get my stamp of approval for manipulating my husband."

"Uh..."

"I should thank you, though, Emma."

“Really?” Emma’s tone was wary.

“Yes.” Belle opened the door. “I want to thank you for showing me who you really are. Have a good day, _Savior.”_ Belle ushered Emma outside, then slammed the door with enough force to shake the windowpanes.

“Belle,” Rumple said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “You're amazing. Thank you.”

“I should have done that a long time ago.” Belle shuddered, then turned in his arms. “There’s more to being a hero than being right. Rumple, I’ll never let my principles stand between us again. You reminded me that life is about choices. Well, I’m making one now. Whatever challenges come our way, I choose to love you more.”

###

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love for you to share your thoughts. Do you think a conversation of this nature between Rumple and Belle is realistic?


End file.
